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[MiniKitty]

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Damian is not like that.

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The chain of events could not be more wild. First Aspen turns out to be alive and finds me on that Zoner planet. Then I meet Lea again, do some escort contracts, meet some new people. Kristoff breaks my heart, then regrets it. Now he is here again, with me. In my bed. For the first time in a long while, I feel that connection with him again.

Ontario has turned into a war zone, and Damian and his spook friends have turned from hope to disappointment. For as long as I can think, I idolized the Xenos. The only people who care for the people on Pittsburgh. I always looked up to them. Violent, yes, but for a good cause. Unlikely heroes. Finding myself in a position where I, just by chance, run into the leader of the Xeno Alliance? That was one of the greatest things I could have ever imagined.


But that image has been shattered.


I look at this idiot next to me. He sleeps soundly. I had to confront him about the upcoming events. That we need to find a solution, immediately. I had to pin him down, literally, to make him listen and understand the situation. And I had to remind him that life is worth living, and that sometimes we have to make sacrifices. There is only one solution to this situation right now. And I put this into his hands now.

Madeleine and Monique are to my other side. What a blessing to have both of them, really. I turn around to face Madeleine, who turns out to not be sleeping. Our eyes meet. I let my fingers brush over her soft cheek. Cup it. Let my thumb rest on her cheek bone.

One of her legs moves between mine and just stays there. She scoots closer, leaning in for a fleeting kiss. Then another. Then another. It goes on like this for a few minutes. Mute and gentle proximity. Then she whispers into my ear.

Get dressed, love.

No hesitation. No questioning. We carefully get out of the bed, trying out best to not wake up Monique and Kristoff. We move to the cabinet and get our clothes. Middle of the night, fresh breeze outside. Of course I put on leather pants, a T-shirt and a leather jacket, and my beanie. Madeleine, on the other hand, merely grabs a long shirt and a skirt. Not even socks.

We move downstairs. One of the few moments where nothing is happening, here at the Den. A couple is on the couch, watching some movie. Another guy had fallen asleep in a seat. Three others are talking in the kitchen. Two girls cuddling in a corner on the seat pillows. Madeleine walks over to the glass table and pilfers a slice of the pizza, then joins me as we slip into our shoes.

The street lights emit cones of bright orange. Barely any traffic. David's Hollow can be like that. Going out at night like that is quite something. Madeleine and I do that quite often. Sometimes Monique, too. The night sky is covered in clouds. Many moving lights. Hovers, shuttles, freighters, the occasional Bison, the occasional Defiant. Officer Roscoe is somewhere up there, eating donuts. Kristoff's brother Charles might also be on One Police Plaza.

We walk. Madeleine holds my hand.

What's the plan now?

Same as before. I finally convinced him.
Now he just needs to reach out, and beg.

Might be too late for that.

Likely. But I see no other option. It is worth giving it a shot.

It is likely exactly what they wanted to happen.

What do you mean?

I would assume that Damian does not keep these spooks around because they are mindless killers.

We stop at the cigarette vendomat. Without any hesitation, she lets her fingers slide into the rather tight pocket of my pants and produces my credit card out of it. Something I have come used to. In her routine way, she holds the card in front of the scanner, then selects the pack she wants.

I did take my time to look at the conversation you had with them, since I was wondering why you were this disappointed.
Of course, I am assuming that these people are quite intelligent.
That might be my mistake here.

... neither of the two Section 8 pilots seemed really bright, Madeleine.
They reminded me of Rebecca, actually.

Let's assume they are more than just idiots with foul breath for now.
Damian sees an opportunity with Kris.
"Freeing" a Technocrat is a huge symbolic act.
Big PR material.
When that gets public, that will be a stab right into the back of the enemy.

The thin woman with the orange dyed hair kneels down to fish the smokes out of the dispenser. She then gets up again, walks over to me and lets the credit card slip back into my pocket. Eager to get a cigarette for her craving, she unwraps the pack and opens it, retrieving one of the mint flavor max filter smokes. As usual, she opens one of the pockets of my jacket and stuffs the pack in there. Her hand then eagerly seeks for the lighter in the inner pocket of the jacket, only to realize there is none.

... fuck, I left it on the balcony.

Aw.

We can go to the diner, they probably have a light.

Yeah.

Anyway, love, with Section 8 repeatedly telling you they are going to kill him...

The cigarette finds a temporary home behind her ear. She grabs my hand again and we walk over to the diner.

... they put more pressure on you. Obviously, Damian still sees value in this.
You two are in a considerably worse position now.
Chances are the price is higher now, but they might still go through with it.

What more could they want?

These people are terrorists, Levan. Criminals.
They don't care for the individual. They want to win. They will ask for anything you could provide that will help them to win.

... Money?

You got money and reputation. You also got a gunboat.
They will probably settle for just enough to get a deal.
But Kris will not be the only one to make a sacrifice.

Damian is not like that.



We enter the diner. Not many people around, yet enough to not feel empty. Madeleine and I find ourselves a quiet corner booth. Textile cushions, red wood furniture, plastic table surface. Cozy, with just enough of a reminder that this is not a restaurant but a diner. Madeleine sits down right next to me, leaning against my side. I put my arm around her.

What makes you so sure about that?

He does not strike me as such. When he offered this solution, he did not mention any price. He just wanted to do it. To help us.

Oh sweet summer child.
If something seemingly comes for free, the product is you.

Madeleine, you heard him talk yourself. There was this... benevolence in his voice.
He cares for people. That is what Xenos do. They care for the people from Pittsburgh, and the lower class of Liberty. The small man.

That surely is the kind of rhetoric used by charismatic leaders.
How else would you convince people to join and fight for your cause?
You appeal to the weak and mistreated.
Freedom, fair working conditions, no more corruption!
Together we are strong. We, the oppressed.
Handsome face, strong voice, strong appearance.

The waitress comes over, a pad in her hand, ready to take our order.


A cup of coffee, a glass of water and a slice of cheese cake, please.

Oh, got a light?

The middle aged waitress produces a lighter from her vest pocket. Madeleine takes her cigarette and leans forward as the waitress lights the cigarette for her.

Thanks, you saved me.

With our order noted down on her pad, the lady walks off. Madeleine enjoys her cigarette, shooting rings of smoke out of her mouth. After a few of them, she leans back again, huddling up against me.

Your Alliance Commander doesn't care at all about you. To him, you are a playboy. A money bag. A naive kid.
Ontario turns into a war zone, and all you care for is this unchained Technocrat.
He has no reason to sympathize with you, Levan. Or Kris.

Could be.

This is a war, Levan. And he is a terrorist.
These people have no issues killing people.
And for what? Reputation, rocks, territory.
People like you and Kris have no place in his world.
You either fight for his Alliance, you stay out, or get in the way.

Could be.

You have the best intentions, Levan.
But in our world, there is no justice. No fairness.
The best thing you can do is lay low.
Enjoy your reputation as playboy, enjoy your money.
Getting in touch with these space groups never goes well.
It backfired with your former friends in Inverness.
It will backfire with Damian.
If you keep killing Rogues, that will backfire, too.
It is not too late to stop. You have a good life.
You survived Rebecca, Caliban, the Technocrats and the Sentinels.

Kris, on the other hand, goes out there, seeks out trouble, goes places, takes weird jobs and even after leaving the Technocracy, he still hangs out with them.
They see him with them. Boom. Every bit of sympathy is gone.
Sooner or later, he will die because of that.

And you know that.

In any other situation, my blood would be boiling. Just like when Senator and Damian mocked me. Humiliated me. Treated me like a naive child. I would get angry, slowly get my hands on the turret controls, target the enemy and be ready to fire at any moment. And then my conscience would get the better of me and calm me down right in time. Just like when Rebecca gave me a chance to kill her. Or when I wondered whether killing Relenant and Kristoff would be better for Sirius. Or when I looked at this Order agent who kept repeating that they would kill Kristoff.

I would simmer down. I would not escalate it.

Here, it is different. I am calm. No anger. Just disappointment. Flatlining hope. Madeleine is way too sharp for this realm. I do not know anyone who sees through any mask as quick as she does. Her intellect is both intimidating and inspiring. Compared to her, I really am, without a doubt, a naive child. Compared to her, most people are. Laying low. That is her lifestyle. She is rich, but does not touch her money. She hates it when I go to space.

What she says makes sense. I just wish it is different. My whole life I saw the Xenos as the good guys. Damian? Someone who cares for the small man. A man who gets stuff done. He does not hide behind a table. He sits in a fighter, and kills. He is a killer. A terrorist. The leader of his alliance. He has no reason to care for someone like me, or to show sympathy for Kristoff. Like Relevant, he sees soldiers. Pawns to push around. Kristoff is just an opportunity. If he can help Kristoff, that is good for publicity. If he cannot help him, his death will please the Order. Considering he seems to hang out with them frequently, their opinion and favor is probably important to him.

Ashes are dropping into the ash tray as Madeleine taps her index finger on the cigarette. Her fragrance is a mix of her deodorant, the slice of pizza she had devoured a few minutes ago and the cigarette's weird flavor. I must admit, while smoking does not seem appealing to me at all, I do enjoy the scent of it when she does it. Of course her brand is not actually containing nicotine. She does it for the habit and the taste of it. At least now.

We stay like this for a while, until the waitress returns with our drinks. Water for me, a coffee for Madeleine, and the cake for me - until the waitress disappears and Madeleine takes the plate. Four years since I left Pittsburgh, and I still find no pleasure in eating anything other than Synth. Madeleine explained the synthivore syndrome to me, using all these fancy words from biology and science. My body stopped producing enzymes to process anything other Synth Paste and Gel. The only way to change that would be to eat other foods in small amounts, get stomach aches and motivate my body to produce the enzymes again. I am not sure if I actually want that. Thus, that very pretty looking slice of cheesecake is all hers.

Unless Kris finds a way out of this spiral,
and changes his ways, this is set in stone.

Nothing you can do about it.
And nothing you should do about it.
Unless you want him to put you at risk again.
And knowing you two, that will happen again.

Probably.

Yeah.

Madeleine uses the small fork and cuts a clean chunk of cheesecake off the slice. The fork pierces it and leads it to her lips. It slowly vanishes in her mouth.


And yet you are still with me. I guess you still have hopes for everything to end well?

Maybe. Maybe I am gone when you wake up again.

She takes the next bite. The cigarette is still leaving a trail of smoke. The coffee is hot and adds another source of steam in front of us. My glass of water is bubbling, keeping the two deforming ice cubes at the surface in motion.

You might give me just enough reason to stay with you, though.

I guess I am doing something right.

You certainly do. You might be naive.
You surely are more attractive than it is good for you.
Your luck outweighs your intellect, too.
But you have a good heart. And you treat the people around you nicely.
Finding a boyfriend with those qualities is difficult, you know?

... I am not sure whether to feel flattered or not.

You better.

The cigarette slowly dies down as Madeleine drops it in the ash tray, now paying full attention to the cheesecake, carefully using the fork to separate another fine chunk. The powdery frosting barely takes any damage thanks to her precision.

Maybe I am just a naive kid, too.
Love is quite infamous for bringing even the strongest and most intelligent people to their knees.

Every now and then, she ends up saying something like this. Something that catches me completely off guard. My cheeks get warm, my stomach drops. I feel her lips on my cheek. Including something that feels like a crumb of the cake. I do not mind it. I turn my head towards her and return the kiss. Maybe this would be enough to make my body learn to produce enzymes again? I doubt it. It was not the point of it, anyway.

If you turn out to be my downfall of castle and country, I think I am fine with that, Levan.

We walk home. Slowly. The wind is quite chilling, and I can tell Madeleine is feeling cold. I take off my jacket and hand it to her. She gladly accepts. We continue to return home, hand in hand. We go upstairs, and we lay down again, dressed as we are. She falls asleep in my arms, and I lose my consciousness, too.


When I wake up, she is still there.

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